Off the Pedestal
by timydamonkey
Summary: AU. Paul POV. First in the ‘Disturbed’ trilogy. His grandfather had always warned him about his powers, shifting especially. He didn't listen, so it eventually got to him too, and he’s now insane… Look out, Carmel Paul Slater's coming to town. ON HOLD.
1. Enter Paul

**Off the Pedestal:**

**Chapter One:**

**Full Summary: AU. Paul POV. First in the 'Disturbed' trilogy. His grandfather had always warned him about his powers, shifting especially. He'd ended up a cripple, and didn't want to see Paul end up like that. But it eventually got to Paul too, and though he's fine physically, he's now insane… Look out, Carmel, Paul Slater's coming to town.**

**A/N: Will be VERY dark. You've been warned. And this is rated M for a reason, okay? Violence, some death, bad language – it's all there.**

**Hope you enjoy it, cuz this is going to be a long, consistent series. Suze will come into it a lot more later, but she plays a sort of minor character at first.**

**A lot of parallel events in this series are in the books, though there are some moments that aren't there. The speech is different, as is the attitude.**

**This isn't that long, but I've planned out all the chapters, and they'll get progressively longer because, as the plot thickens, the strong picks up and more is planned. XD Can't wait 'til I get to the more exciting chapters… -cough-**

**Writing insanity is hard, you know. So give me a break, I'm developing the writing style – I don't mind if you SUGGEST how to get it across, but don't say it's total crap or anything without a little con crit. I also realize a lot of the randomness. I tribute this to insanity.**

**Set in the timeline of Haunted.**

**Oh yeah, I'm gonna dedicate this fic to Elaine (GroovyBananas) and nikki007, because they always review, and always review nicely. So, thanks a bunch, guys. **

I'm sitting in the office of the principal, and, let me tell you, it's a load of crap. He's a bloody priest. And he looks like he's at least 100 and is utterly delighted to have me in this school, which is also a load of crap. If a priest happily welcomes someone who's just been expelled, he's got to be a crackpot.

He's waffling on, and I kind of zoned out. I zone back in. "…and I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself here, Mr. Slater."

I start laughing quietly then, but manage to conceal it. Enjoy myself? Yeah, right. Well, maybe I could enjoy myself by blowing the school up or something, but the damn guy's a priest, and I'm sure the old dude up in the sky wouldn't take too kindly to it, if he even exists. I mean, can you imagine, 'welcome to my house. Let's check your record. You blew up a school? You? Wow, can you do it again?' The thought is so absurd that I burst into sudden loud, uproarious laughter. The priesty guy stares at me as if I'd grown another head. What's his name, anyway? I know it began with a D… Father David, Dennis, Dominiscus, Dogface, Dabastard… Something like that. I think I'll just call him priesty for now.

"Mr. Slater, are you alright?" He asks, concerned.

I laugh harder. Through tears of mirth, I respond. "I'm absolutely fine, _Father._" Haha… Father, sounds funny, doesn't it? Like he's my father, biological and all that. Can you imagine your own father preaching to you? 'Oh, dear child, work your hardest and enjoy your life… and do your best not to anger God. You see…' Insert fifty hours of preaching. Yawn. What a load of crap, particularly when you've heard it fifty million times over.

Priesty – I really should remember his name, but my attention span really isn't the best – is, in other words, an old twit. Nice old twit, but hey, what difference does being nice make? Load of crap, if you ask me. Anyway, he stares at me, and then smiles painfully. "Mr. Slater, I will escort you to class…"

And he does so.

See, this proves my hypothesis. What kind of guy who isn't a priest offers to escort a kid to their classroom, when they're the _principal_? Most of them wonder what the trouble is, then call somebody else to take them, but oh no, not _the good Father. _Probably thinks he's doing some kind of favour to his Lordship – helping others and all that, actually helping the community… Hey, you know the drill. Or maybe he's just worrying about what was written about me on that report? That makes sense. Doesn't want me to kill anyone, or something.

Well, he doesn't need to worry. I don't kill anyone.

Well, unless they deserve it, but that's another story. If I'm provoked, however, it's not my problem. It's theirs.

I stroll into the classroom, without saying so much as bye. I was introduced to the class and all that, and all the while, I just went and sat in a seat. A seat next to a girl who looked like she was constantly sucking lemons or something. Loads of the girls were staring at me. I gave a fake, angelic smile, then turned to the front. It's annoying, really.

The girl next to me leaned over and whispered as Mr. Whats-his-name (Walden, I think? Something like that? Ah, who cares) carried on with his lesson, "hi. I'm Kelly Prescott, who are you?"

I stare at her for a minute. Cute girl and everything, absolutely cute, but dumb as a brick. He'd just introduced me, for God's sake. Damn, I thought people were supposed to be intelligent here, you know, with all their wonderful gifts from up above? Hey, can you just imagine something where people have something like that fairy thing? 'I bless thing child with these gifts, blahblahblah'. Well, whatever the hell _Kelly _had been blessed with, they'd seemed to forget about a brain. Can you even function without a brain? Oh, where was I…

"Paul Slater." I say nonchalantly, trying to turn back to the lesson. On no account am I eager to learn, but when face with severe density, it's always preferable. She ignored the signs, however. Typical.

"Welcome to the Mission Academy, Paul, you'll fit right in," she gushed with a massive smile that made me want to vomit. If she tried any harder, she'd be brain-fried or something. Not that that wouldn't be an improvement or anything. "I'm the class President."

"Good for you," I say. She ignores me. Oh great, I end up sitting next to a bloody self-centred idiot. If she were in clown make up and falling off a tightrope, she wouldn't look more stupid or dumb.

"Yeah, there's some great people over here…" She then proceeds to go on about anyone 'worth talking to' which is a really long list. I glare at her. I can't remember any of them and don't care, and then, anyway, I've had enough. You would have had too, if she'd been listening to her for half a bloody hour, then heard, "and that's Brad, who's like totally cool, but his stepsister is a load of whack sometimes, though she's class VP and better than those freaky friends of hers, and then that's Scott, who's…"

She rattles on for a little bit again, then says, "and Paul, you can, like totally be one of us. We're totally cool, and it's like, the best people in the school, and everyone looks up to us, and, like, it's awesome, because everyone who doesn't agree is just totally weird."

She's saying that I'm weird because I don't believe that her bunches of claptraps are walking enmities? Geez, this whole class is crap. I turn to face her slowly, my eyes glittering in anger. "Shut the fuck up."

She shrinks backwards, the whole class staring at me, Walden too. "Mr. Slater, you do not say that word at all – particularly not in a Catholic Mission!" He sounds like a nun or something. It's funny.

I chuckle dryly. If possible, they stare even more. I smirk; halting my laughter, then get up from my seat, almost daring anyone to follow me. They won't, though. They're all a bunch of cowards. No one stands up to me. No one.

I walk out the classroom in complete and utter silence. I can't resist a look back, and nearly choke at look on Walden's face. Total shock. Ha, this is great.

Staring at everyone, though. I don't think I'm going to be too popular. Ah, who cares? I always get what I want, and I go to whatever lengths to get it. It's not like they have a choice in the matter.

**A/N: Hehe, do you like it or not? Next chapter should be up by Tuesday, hopefully. Review, please.**


	2. Get Stuffed, Ghosts

Off the Pedestal:

* * *

Chapter Two:

Full Summary: AU. Paul POV. First in the 'Disturbed' trilogy. His grandfather had always warned him about his powers, shifting especially. He'd ended up a cripple, and didn't want to see Paul end up like that. But it eventually got to Paul too, and though he's fine physically, he's now insane… Look out, Carmel, Paul Slater's coming to town.

A/N:Hard to write. Want to get to the exciting bits XD Still, those are coming in soon, as, so far, I only have seven chapters planned, though there will be more.

Oh, I won't always be able to update this quickly, but it's bank holiday weekend.

The mis-spellings of Kelly's name are intentional, as are the name changes.

In no way does Paul's feelings about things reflect mine. But this is Paul we're talking about, and we aren't very alike.

And there's bound to be loads of freaky shifter powers throughout these fics. You've been warned. Without further ado, here's chapter two.

* * *

I've been sitting out here for God knows how long. Who knew the bloody lessons here was so long? Still, at least he didn't send anyone looking for me. But… that look on his face. He looked so shocked, but also was going really red, like something had knocked the wind out of him… ah, to have that effect on someone….

Then again, he could always be worried that I'd contaminate the other pupils. You know, with insanity, or even with swear words. Yeah, maybe by saying something in front of them, they'll all say it, and it'll become a complete school rebellion!

I'll have to try it sometime.

Not that I actually want to talk to anyone here, but still, this is total boredom – and that being the understatement of the century. Then, all of a sudden, seemingly simultaneously, all the doors burst open, and kids walked out, chattering.

…Creepy.

Who'd have thought this place didn't have a bell system? Didn't they think it would have been nice to _tell _me? You know, the _poor, helpless _new kid. After all, that's what they think I am, isn't it? No matter how far they are from the truth… Load of self-centred bastards. Maybe they wanted me to be dumb and stay in there while they went out because there's no freaking bell, and then lock me up in there?

Wouldn't put it past them. The priest – he looks pretty damn eccentric, but he acts _way _too kind, so I wouldn't put it past him to have formed this devious plan into a false sense of security so that they could lock me up for the sake of the others? Well, priesty, I won't fall for your meagre tricks. I'm far more intelligent than you think, and soon you'll see that.

So anyone, out everyone comes out, Kerry glowering when she saw me, along with several other people she seemed to have made her cronies. Too late for them, but not too late for me. I wouldn't stick around with her to save my life. At least I had some inkling of common sense; no one here seemed to.

I didn't really want to talk to anyone, but couldn't help shouting out, 'hey, Katey? What's got _your _knickers in a twist?' She turned around and gave me a death glare and walked away, several of her cronies echoing her, but not coming to fight me, either because I was the weak little new kid or they were scared. And yeah; they better be scared. I wield more power than they can even comprehend, and I can crush them wherever and whenever I like.

This charade is so much more fun, though. I can get out of any situation they put me in. I'm no prisoner, and won't be treated as one, nor am I some bloody leaf that crumples as soon as you stand on it. I'm strong, I'm powerful, and I don't intend to let them forget that when I'm through here.

Before I get expelled, that is. It's inevitable really, my getting expelled. It always happens, but what they say I've done, well, it's not even true. It's a load of crap, basically.

Anyway, so they stand by and glare and think I'll do nothing about it. Oh, but I can torture, and I can imprison. I can do whatever I want, and no one and no thing can stop me. It's almost like I'm invincible, and I'm far better than those bastards. I could beat them with a flick of the finger, I could burn them, I could knife them…

When you think about it, there's so many methods of murder, aren't there? Shooting, poisoning, freezing, head injuries, abandoning, and then just giving people a little push in the right direction… I could do all of that, and have no regrets. Nothing stands in my way. Nobody stops me getting my own way. I am a free spirit (haha, corny pun, I know), and I can do whatever I want.

People probably think this is why I'm so dangerous, but loads of people could do those things. They just don't think about it, or don't plan on doing it. Regardless of what other people can do, I can do it better. I can do it SO much better, so much slower, that they'll be BEGGING to die…

I must be looking pretty damn murderous, as all those who were staring turn away, and starting to whisper. They'd better stop. I'm watching. I'm always watching. I'm like a God. I'd say I was _their _God, but what'd the fun be in that? Wait 'til they work it out, wait 'til they see my power…

And they'll be begging me to get lost and praying that they were me… and it would never happen, and I would reign supreme… That is, if I could figure out that STUPID puzzle.

So I stand up and start walking, glaring at everyone looking at me, smirking and manage to unnerve everyone to the point of them turning away from me.

Ah, life is great.

Anyway, so, to occupy myself, I begin mentally (and shamelessly, might I add) undressing girls. A great cure to boredom, really, plus you get a heck of a lot of pleasure from it… Some of it's quite funny, really, particularly when people are fat, or albino like that in chick in homeroom. Then you get people like Kathy… _wow. _And then you get…

…Glowing latino males...

_Eww. _Just, _eww. _

I freeze.

I did _not _need that mental image. Bloody ghosts; they're always showing up at the most inconvenient times. I don't want to see another ghost as long as I live!

The crowd seems to be pushing against my back, wondering why I've stopped. I put on a death glare and they decide that the most sensible thing would be to go around me.

Wow, we must have some regular Einstein's here.

Anyway, so I stare at the ghost, but he doesn't look like he's looking for me. Wonder of wonders. Bit stupid really, though. Why look for someone when they can't see you? See, ghosts minds don't work right. They go all weird and wacky and want 'a last view of their beloved before they die'.

Damn sob stories.

Of course, I'm no weakling. I don't LET them have what they want. After all, what kind of guy would I be then? Letting a guy get his dying wish? Sorry, but you missed it. You're _dead. _Letting a guy get his death wish? You're life's over, sod off and stop bugging me.

They never stop though. They always come, and I always send them away. Makes it sound like I'm successful, and I am. I just don't follow the rules – in anything actually, not just ghostbusting. Paul the Ghost Buster. Nah, Paul the Ghost Slayer sounds better. Can you even slay a ghost? What fun would THAT be? Have a fight to the death with a ghost, be within an inch of your life, and then dump him where he can't ever leave. So yeah, ghosts sometimes can be used for amusement purposes (after all, who'd want to use them for anything else? It's not like you can 'partake in liberties with them', anyway), but at the moment, I didn't want anyone coming over.

And he wasn't.

Hallelujah.

He doesn't seem to look at me, but I glower at him anyway for good measure (people stupid enough still to be watching look away, probably thinking I'm kind of mad, as the corridor's clearing out now and no one's around where the spectral dude is) and walk off.

No ghosts. No people. Just me. And if I can get that, then great. If I can't, some Higher Power is going to pay when I get my hands on him… which is only a matter of time, really. I chuckle hollowly, and several people back away.

Let them think I'm crazy! Let them think I'm insane! I'll prove my sanity in the end. I'm perfectly fine, and they're the screwed up ones. And the screwed ones, too, if you catch my drift – or at least, will be, and in both definitions of the word for the girls, too.

This is my life, and this is how I live it, and that will never change.

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A/N:Like it? Please review! 


	3. Smirking Watcher

**Off the Pedestal:**

**Chapter Three:**

**Full Summary: AU. Paul POV. First in the 'Disturbed' trilogy. His grandfather had always warned him about his powers, shifting especially. He'd ended up a cripple, and didn't want to see Paul end up like that. But it eventually got to Paul too, and though he's fine physically, he's now insane… Look out, Carmel, Paul Slater's coming to town.**

**A/N: This chapter gets kind of violent, in a way: you've been forewarned.**

**I will also remind you that Paul's opinions are not mine. In this chapter, there is some rather… unpleasant opinions on Christianity. Myself being a Christian, I say that I don't share the opinion, but I need to get into the guys head, don't I?**

Damn that bloody ghost. Don't ever want to see a ghost again, eh? I was perfectly happy without any ghosts around. But no, now I want one. I am not in the best of moods. What's better than to go and further degrade one of the bunch of walking dead?

They shouldn't look at me with the fear that they do, though. I mean, it's their fault that they're dead and haven't bothered to bloody even attempt to move on. They just sit there and go, 'oh, holy Mediator, I beg of you, send me to Heaven!' And I just glare at them. I am NO Mediator. Mediators are weak and pathetic. I am a great and all-powerful shifter – not some bloody weakling. At least, with the respect I get, they recognize my power, and that I'm obviously superior to them.

I also return the favour; removing them from this Earth that they're plagued on.

But don't worry; I'm not soft. I don't actually send them on to Heaven or whatever the Hell else that they think is up there. I give them a one-way ticket to Hell – returning the favour for them trying to destroy my life, yeah?

Anyway, I'll curse that bloody Latino. I'll incinerate him – making me think of ghosts again. Bloody bastard, he is. I'll cause him to spontaneously combust if I have to – now wouldn't THAT be fun? There's no downside, too: I'd find who they were looking for, plus there'd be a massive explosion tearing down this bloody 'Mission Academy', and people would be crushed and the old scheming priesty dude would know that I haven't fallen for his stupid, underhand scheme.

I can figure him out way too easy.

Which is why I'm going to go out ghost hunting, right now. You never know, I could join one of those green parties, all this cleaning up of the environment that I'm doing. But, anyway, I seem to have a little date with the grim reaper – and his latest victims.

Finding a ghost was ridiculously easy. I mean, do the little fuckers ever actually go straight onto their next life? 'When I died, I dropped my hair clip: oh, woe is me!' For whoever's sake, what the fuck is with that? GET YOUR OWN FREAKIN' HAIRCLIP. They can't understand plain English. You tell them to pick it up, and they still can't do it. It's not exactly hard, is it? It goes:

Bring down your hand. Close your fingers over the object. Pick it up.

The difficultly level of that? A big fat ZERO.

'Yes,' they say, 'but my hand goes right through it,' and they demonstrate.

I copy. They stare – the typical wangsty ghost that 'they' is referring to, anyway.

'But… you're alive!' they exclaim.

I glare at them. They shrink backwards, astonished. 'So, if I can do that, you can pick it up. And I leave them weeping, shoving their hand through their most prized possession, seeming to will their hands to allow them to pick it up, some wailing as they realized that they'd never get it.

Yes, that's what my ghosts are like. Therefore, it surprised me when the one I found said, "Are you alright?" My eyes, which had been closed in a motion of exhaustion, snap open. The ghost backs away, seeming scared of my raw power. "You can see me?" he whispers in disbelief.

Oh. That.

"Oh, no, I can't," I say, voice dripping with more than just sarcasm – it almost seems as if people think I'm some kind of poison, and react accordingly. I glower at the man-ghost, who's backing away, white glowing face paler than I was used to seeing it. Why the Hell did he even ask a question if he didn't expect me to see him, anyway?

Distorted logic: I guess losing your body does that to you.

Well, I'm not one to idly have conversations with ghosts, so I add, in my most innocent voice that always seems to make people more scared, "want to move on?"

Of course, he knows what that means. He seems to be one of the idiot kind, and instead of inquiring further, just goes, "sure! You… you can do that?"

"Yes," I snap. He's questioning my power AND my authority! That is NOT to be taken lightly! Oh, he's definitely going to get it, and get it good, he will!

Without conversing any further, I grab him, and he jerks back in fear and surprise. Oops, did I forget to be all-gentle with the poor widdle baby ghostie? Shame. He's scared that somebody can touch him? Aww, poor baba… scared of everything…

Seriously. This guy DESERVED to die. He's a bloody lunatic.

So, yeah, I shift and let go of the freak. He stumbles backwards and stares around fearfully, then stares at me and his eyes widen. "You… you're dead?"

I start laughing hysterically then. "Dumbass… I'm not dead… I'm not like you, and never will be. I'm still very much alive," I chuckle. I note him trying (and failing, might I add) to suppress a shiver.

That's right… Don't question me…

"So, what is this place?"

"Some call it Shadowland," I say idly, using the word for the place, _I_ call it. Of course, I can't resist the thing that I'm sure will make him react in a most amusing way. "And others call it Purgatory."

His eyes widen, and he falls to his knees, seemingly analysing the situation. "But… never did anything wrong! I led a good life! I even ran a homeless shelter!"

A homeless shelter? I laugh aloud. "That's not a good life," I inform him. "That's a boring life. A good life is doing a lot more… suggestive things, and getting a little more intoxicated."

I smirk at his expression, and begin laughing somewhat manically again, unable to calm myself down.

He looks at the floor helplessly. "I… I… I never meant to offend you, but if it's your judgement that I be sent to Hell, then so be it…"

This sobers me up. I stare at him. "You what, now?"

"But," he looked confused, "isn't this where I get judged?"

For a moment, I'm confused, and then my education kicks in. End of the world… judgement… holy crap, did he think I was Jesus or something? I start laughing hysterically at the thought; it was just so ludicrous. "I'm not bloody Jesus or anything…" I gasp, in between fits of laughter. Though maybe one day I'd overthrow the old fool if he even existed, at the moment, I wasn't him. "I'm the evil version," I inform him, watching as he freezes and backs away in sudden, relentless fear.

I want to laugh again, but refrain myself. I was actually saying the truth. "I'm in a good mood today," I say airily. "So, I'll show you the way out. Actually, it shows itself; you just need a push in the right direction." He looks at me, longing to go, and I smirk and tell him exactly what I was planning on saying. "Go into the light."

He doesn't even seem to question me. His loss. I had warned him; I'd told him the truth, hadn't I? I'd told him that I was like the evil version of his bloody personified God. It's no great tragedy, anyway.

I watch him walk into the light. Closer and closer, towards the brighter and brighter light…

And then… a scream. Lots of screams, actually. Burning. His skin (if he'd have had any, that is) really would have looked like it was burning off, too; he hit the floor in pain (hey, so ghosts can actually have considerable pain… I have to try this method again, sometimes) and was currently twitching, rolling around and making strangling noises when he discovered that he could no longer scream.

I watch as he begins to be eradicated. I watch his pain. I watch as his body seems to fold in on itself, becoming smaller, and smaller… I watch until what was once a man (okay, a ghost of a man, but same difference – he was probably equally annoying when he was alive) seems to become ashes, rising up into the air and scattering like leaves. I watch and I smirk.

I chuckle darkly, and make my way to IT. I had a good excuse for being here anyway, did I not? You know, aiming to help a poor, _innocent _soul… and it's not my fault if he's a gullible one, is it? IT is the only good looking thing in here… and IT is important. I reach for IT, ready to use it, but-

"You!" a bellowing voice shouts. I turn around and see my current nemesis: the gatekeeper. I glare at him. He glares at me. He drags me away from IT. "You are not permitted entrance, so stop trying to breach the security."

I smirk again, and then I shift. Next order of business: finding out how to get past the gatekeeper, which is easier said than done…

**A/N: D'you like it? Review!**


	4. Shades of Red

**Off the Pedestal:**

**Chapter Four:**

**Full Summary: AU. Paul POV. First in the 'Disturbed' trilogy. His grandfather had always warned him about his powers, shifting especially. He'd ended up a cripple, and didn't want to see Paul end up like that. But it eventually got to Paul too, and though he's fine physically, he's now insane… Look out, Carmel, Paul Slater's coming to town.**

**A/N: And now, the entrance of my OC… bwahaha… I'm sure you'll love/hate her. Personally, I hate her. :P**

**Paul IS really insane, yes. He doesn't think he is, though. They think he's insane for some things when he's not – as explained in this chapter – but he's still insane.**

**Writers block is evil.**

Strolling into the classroom the day afterwards, I meet a sight I hadn't expected to see.

Sitting at the other spare desk is Lola. I narrow my eyes at her, and then she looks at me, stands up, runs towards me and _hugs _me. "Paul! I didn't know you were going here too! That's great!"

The rest of the sentence hangs unspoken in the air.

_You're in a school again; you're obviously no longer a psycho!_

I never was a psycho dear, you, on the other hand were a little piece of shit worthy of nothing except being spat on. I consider saying it, but decide that if she wants to do some acting, I'll do some acting. Calmly.

Because, of course, after the calm comes the storm.

"Hello," I say in such a sickeningly sweet voice that some of the class backs off, and others just stare at me. "I'm glad to see you again." That's not even a lie: I AM glad to see her; she can be punished for what she's done, and she can fall to my superiority. She doesn't know this. Totally oblivious, she grins in relief.

It's too early to be relieved, my friend. No, wait; you're not my friend. You're my enemy. Can you even say 'my enemy' like that? It sounds bloody weird. 'It's too early to be relieved, my enemy.' Maybe some odd, homicidal comment would have been better? No, that DOES make me sound like a psycho… Oh well, what's done is done and what's thought is thought. Now, where was I…?

"I'm glad to be here!"

Great, let's get this over with, I decide. "Come on, we have a bit of catching up to do."

"Okay!" she chirps, and comes after me with a massive grin plastered all over her face, and, once again, she's totally oblivious. She could give Catherine a run for her money, with all the intellectual value of a particularly stupid sheep. She'll be going 'baa' next, and then they'll slaughter and kill her and turn her into lamb chops. Or, if they don't, I will.

I take hold of her arm and gently drag her down the breezeway, up until we're out of earshot of the class. I smirk and shove her into the wall, holding her there, fairly sure my eyes are twinkling with malice.

"Hi, Lola," I say in a singsong voice. She's shaking. Good. Let her fear me! Let her see what she's done! This is all her fault, after all. "_So _glad you're here. We have a little score to settle, don't you reckon?"

"Whatever do you mean?" she asks, the perfect little picture of innocence. But damn if I knew that she was anything BUT innocent: she was the one responsible for this whole mess in the first place! "Oh, that," she suddenly says, smiling, closes her eyes and leans forward with puckered lips.

I stare for a moment, then see red and pull her forwards slightly, before literally slamming her into the wall. She cries out in pain, and her eyes shoot open. I'm glad to see tears forming around her eyes, and her complete and utter lack of control. Don't get me wrong, I love a good snog as much as the next guy, but with someone unworthy of being even Caitlyn's lapdog, I do not go for it. Unless it's purely for my own pleasure, but I am not in the mood for that right now. I have a bone to pick with her, and won't leave until I have a feeling of satisfaction.

In other words, I knew it could take a while.

"Paul," she says, her voice quivering, trying to back herself further into the wall and away from me, "what's wrong? What's the matter with you? Are you-"

I explode.

People say that when you're angry, you see red. I think it depends on how angry you get. You know, it can go from that weird red-orange colour to… well, what it is currently, actually. A deep crimson. The colour of blood. How ironic. Right now, I want nothing more than to pound her head in and leave her lying there in a pile of blood, then hide round the corner to see the reaction of whoever finds her, and laugh madly at the whole scene.

I restrain myself, but only just.

My voice, as I speak, seems to burn her like acid. I can almost picture her screaming, her skin sizzling and steaming and holes all around the place. I am the personification of a PH1 acid, apparently. Well, you learn something new every day.

Enjoying the effect my words seem to have on her, I continue talking.

"_What's the matter?"_ I hiss venomously, "What kind of stupid question is that? This is entirely your fault, and you know it!"

"What?" she whispers almost inaudibly, but I still pick it up. I feel my frustration growing and resist the temptation to throw her into the wall a third time for good measure. Nonetheless, I pin her there with my arms to make up for it.

"It's _your _fault that I'm stuck here. It's _your _fault that the priest has some kind of secret plan to stop me from murdering any of his precious blessed students by keeping me locked up and trying to be all humane when really he thinks I'm the scum of the highest order!" I'm yelling now, and I know it, but she totally deserves it. "He didn't need to worry about that though, did he? Killing them, I mean. The only person I'm the remotest bit interested in killing is _you_." I smirk as the realization dawns, and her face contorts into an expression of total horror.

"Let go of me, Paul, let _go!_" she screams, struggling but to no avail. She's flopping around like a fish or something. Well, she always was the perfect little weakling. Usually I'd never dream of 'exploiting' her like this, but things change, don't they? She changes tactics and looks at me with a tear stained face and puppy dog eyes…

Oh, _please. _Spare me.

"What happened, Paul?" she asks quietly. "What happened to you? We used to be such good friends…"

"_Used_ being the operative word," I say airily, and she looks confused for a moment before she gets it. For the first time, she looks genuinely confused – her confusion before had obviously been faked.

"What's changed, then?"

I laugh hollowly, and it goes on up to the point of sounding slightly hysterical. I choke on my words. "_What's changed? What's changed? _Are you really that dumb, or is this all an act?" By the look on her face though, it sure looks like she really is this dumb. "Fine, I'll enlighten you." I lean in towards her, ignoring the way she recoils backwards and seems to want to melt through the wall. "You told them I was insane. You told them I heard voices that weren't there. You screwed up everything because you told them that I was a bloody mentally unstable prick who was completely off his rocker!"

"I'm sorry, Paul," she says timidly, "but it's true, isn't it? You do hear voices that aren't there…"

"_I do not! _They _are _there!"

"You think they are, Paul, but they're just a figment of your imagination, honestly…" I snarl in frustration. She doesn't understand. None of them understand. I _hate _ghosts. She caught me talking to one, and the next minute, I'm spirited away as Mr. Insane when it's not even my fault the damn thing came to talk to me! I didn't ASK it to! Always bloody ruining my life, they are…

I I must have looked pretty scary as she opens her mouth to scream, so I cover it with a large hand. "Shut _up. _This wouldn't have happened if you'd have kept your big gob shut about things you don't understand."

She gives me a pleading look and pries my hand off to say, "but I do understand," so I force it back on and nearly end up punching her. I laugh crazily.

"Oh, you don't. You _really _don't. Now, let me have my say. I daresay I've heard enough of _your _voice to last a lifetime." She gulps and quiets down, so I carry on. "Schools can't keep people with psychosis. So it was bye-bye, Paul. And you know what the funny thing is? I'm not even bloody psychotic in the first place!"

She pushes me backwards sharply and I start in surprise. She moves forwards again, though, almost backing me up against the other wall, this time. "Paul… I know it's hard to accept, but you are…"

I shove her hard against the wall, and this time she does scream. "How dare you judge me when you know _nothing_… You haven't got a fucking clue about anything…" She slips down to the floor in shock, staring up at me with wide eyes, cloaked in raw fear…

Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.

I contemplate what to do with her. I could take her up to Shadowland… no, wait, that one's getting old after last night's ghostie. Besides, why should I even bother doing that? Why stoop to _her _level? For now, I wish to remain right up here and never fall off my pedestal onto her level… it's either up here, or lower. Hey, I never said I played fair. You declare war on me, and you get your ass kicked, and that's the end of it.

Besides, I have better stuff to do with my time. For instance, to solve that puzzle; to find out how to get through IT, and then finding out how to get rid of that godforsaken gatekeeper up there. Yeah, that's a matter of the utmost importance. Revenge can wait. She'll always be there until she's needed, and she'll fall at the crack of a whip. There's nothing she can do about it.

I turn around, and can't resist taking a look backwards (something that I'm fairly used to), and am pleased to watch her crumple into tears.

Good riddance.

Have remorse, me? I have no reason to feel remorse. She messed with me and she paid for it, and she won't do so again, or she definitely won't live to tell such a tale.

**A/N: Sorry this took so long; I had writer's block. Please tell me what you think…**

**EDIT (20/05/05): I'm knocking the rating down to T, because it contains no explicit content. I reviewed my plan and it shouldn't really contain anything over a T, though I will change it if necessary. Thanks to my lovely reviewers, the next chapter is in progress.**


	5. The Door

**Off the Pedestal:**

**Chapter Five:**

**Full Summary: AU. Paul POV. First in the 'Disturbed' trilogy. His grandfather had always warned him about his powers, shifting especially. He'd ended up a cripple, and didn't want to see Paul end up like that. But it eventually got to Paul too, and though he's fine physically, he's now insane… Look out, Carmel, Paul Slater's coming to town.**

**A/N: See the note at the end of the last chapter about the change of rating.**

I'm in World Civ and Lola still hasn't come back. When I traipsed back into the room, the class kind of ignored it (ie. the missing pupil) until old Walden came over and said, "Some people have told me that you were with Miss. Albertrosh, Mr. Slater. Do you know where she is now?"

I look at him. He seems fearful – oh, I get it, he knows. He thinks I've murdered Lola! Well, that's rich. May as well murder her if people are going to have these constant suspicions about me… It's all the priests' fault, really. He shouldn't go around telling my teachers that I'm a bloody nutter, should he? Come to think of it, he shouldn't even have let me into this school. I was expelled for God's sake. You'd think he'd be afraid of me – afraid that I'd poison one of his students, or something.

Then again, you never know. He could be hoping to 'enlighten' me with all the greatness of his God and all that crap. I'll 'enlighten' the bloody idiot with my fist, if I need to. Damnit, I hardly even know him and I still have fifty million reasons to loathe the old guy!

I lean forwards slightly, "I was with her," I say. "She was in a hall the last time I saw her, and I don't give a shit about how she feels, considering she's an inconsiderate little moron." He seems to be going sort of bug-eyed. I bite back the urge to laugh. Bug-eyed. Funny expression. Like his eyes have turned into a bugs or something. Oh, can you imagine someone with spider eyes? Six pairs of eyes! It'd sure creep everyone out!

He steps away with a weary sigh. "Detention tomorrow night, Mr. Slater," he informs me.

"Great," I say unenthusiastically, and completely zone out.

I meant it. I don't give about how she feels – or any of them, for that matter. I have my own things to work out, and my investigation doesn't seemed to be going too well, so I felt it would be somehow wise to inform everyone about my current temper – then again, being able to explode on them is always fun.

And, today, explode I will, for I am pissed off.

I'm sick of this puzzle. I've been working on it for months now, yet it's the key to so many secrets that I just have to figure it out. It's the key to a whole new world, and I'm stuck coming up with theories about it. There are times when I'm more 'lucid' as you'd call it, where I sit and think about it. The thoughts tend to go something like this:

_It's a bloody DOOR. You open the handle and enter it. Simple!_

It's not that I haven't tried that though, what kind of a moron do I subconsciously think that I am? I mean, even Charmaine the brainless moron knows how to open a door. It just doesn't work that way, and whatever I sometimes think, I know that you can open that bloody door. It wouldn't be there if you couldn't. I also know it's important; I read up on some of it and of course there's the bloody gatekeeper. That guy doesn't just block ANY doors. He's like an intellectual troll or something (if there's any such thing), one who only guards the most dangerous places.

And I go wherever there is danger and wherever there is mystery, and this is pretty much a two-for-one deal here, so how can I miss it?

Sadly, there's no kind of logic that I've found out so far, so I'm now experimenting with patterns of numbers and rituals and things.

Rituals are confusing. What could it be anyway? You can just imagine some sort of advert: throw five victims through the door in one day and receive a new world free! Then again, that doesn't solve the problem of actually OPENING the door. I mean, all the ghosts I've brought up couldn't even see it, so I think it's a shifter thing, a thing for ME to solve and me alone. And seeing it is, of course, going one step closer to opening it.

I can't find any kind of pattern. As soon as my hand even brushes the doorknob, the gatekeeper arrives and acts totally over the top and chucks me out. As disgruntled as I am to have to admit it, he's pretty strong.

Well, not physically, obviously, just spiritually. Whoa, that sounds like a right bunch of crap, doesn't it? But both ghosts and shifters have more power than other people do, and he can force me to shift sometimes. Luckily, I'm pretty damn good at defending against that, so one day I COULD just make a break for the door, considering he'd already be there.

Besides, I'm very familiar with the fact that he's tied to the door. I don't see why he won't let me through: I mean, all the ghosts I've seen moan about how they deserve eternal rest, but this guy just doesn't want it. I bet he'd be free to get his just desserts or whatever if he just let someone through the damn door, but he just won't.

I should have some advantage over him, though. I was here when he first arrived. It's one of those things that you remember like it was yesterday…

I'd read up about the door, of course. And you know you're at the right one when only you can see it, and it glows.

That's right. A glowing DOOR – mad, right? I obviously grew very curious and decided to open it. I'm rather ashamed of myself at that time, for I hadn't much shifting knowledge – nothing like the amount I have now. But I still think I was quite well prepared, so I picked the lock with a hairpin.

The hairpin thing is rather a funny story, actually. I'd stolen it from some girl in a park somewhere – yeah, this was ages ago – she'd been a right bitch, so I pulled her hair. I didn't even pull it that hard, but it's like she was moulting or something as I pulled a great big handful out. The hairpin was attached to that.

My parents and hers were friends, so her parents looked after Jack and us whenever my parents decided to sod off to do some golfing or whatever. I made a point to tie it all together, and just keep that hairpin in it to tease her. It was hilarious and upset her to no end. She said people would think I was some kind of stalker if I had bits of her hair in an effort to get to me to chuck it out, but she failed. Anyway, that's beside the point.

The day I went up there, we were looked after by her parents, so I had the hairpin and hair. When I'd picked the lock, the door swung open slowly, and it was a really bright light, so I couldn't see anything, then all of a sudden I was flung backwards, making me one pissed off shifter. As I lay on the floor, wincing in pain (I was a lot weaker then), there was a loud banging sound.

I looked up hurriedly, and my suspicions were correct: the door was shut, now. This wasn't the only thing that caught my attention, though: it was the massive ghostly bloke standing in front of it. The gatekeeper. He just stared down at me with a completely blank expression, except this angry look in his eyes. At the time, he seemed to speak almost robotically.

"It is not your time," he said, "For you are not the chosen one." That was also the first time he showed his powers, as I woke up in my room, with a four year old Jack trying to wake me up. He looked so relieved when he did that it was just pathetic. I remembered what had happened immediately, and started laughing hysterically. I wasn't even sure why, but 'you are not the chosen one'? How funny was that? Who did the guy think he was, anyway? The bloody Keeper of Souls?

Apparently, my random bout of laughter had scared Jack. I mean, bloody hell, I knew Jack was scared of everything, but LAUGHTER? How pathetic is that? I could just imagine him running whenever anyone laughed, which amused me even more and made me laugh harder.

Incidentally, after that experience was the time they decided I'd gone off my rocker. Quite funny, really, as people think you're insane for LAUGHING. Of course, there was the whole talking to ghosts angle and thinking I was psychotic, but that's not my problem.

And they wonder why I exorcise them. Pfft.

As I finish reminiscing, the shuffling of feet and desks reaches my ears, and I look up. Apparently it is the end of the lesson. I walk to the door, but –

"Mr Slater, will you please stay behind a minute?"

I freeze and glare at him, but go back nonetheless. I may as well humour him. He shuts the door after the last few people have left, and suddenly drops the formality. "Paul, are you okay? You act as if you don't listen to a word that anyone says."

I look up at him, amused. "I don't," I shrug nonchalantly. "Can I go now?"

He sighs, frustrated. "Paul, you really HAVE to listen in class. It's very important, as I'm sure you know. You see-"

I zone out again. I tend to zone out whenever I hear his voice.

When he's done ranting at me and gives me a hall pass, I walk out of the room and head to my locker. At least, that's what I'm planning on doing. I'm supposed to be in Algebra, but it's Walden's fault I've been kept in, not my own. I fumble with the combination, sift through my books and take the ones out for next period, then head towards the next class.

I don't quite make it on time. You see, I got a little preoccupied with a spectral visitor.

Only this one wasn't here to see me.

"Fatherplease help me, please get her for me!" She sounds so bloody pathetic that I carry on walking. She is a woman, smaller than me and glowing like crazy, looking at the good father like she was his pet (ha, wouldn't THAT be funny). "Please, please! I need her! She'll help me, I know she will!" Her hand reaches out suddenly, and grabs at his clothing.

That was when I froze, because her hand didn't go through him.

The father of all deception sighs. "Who is it that you want to see?" He asks curiously. I am curious, too. Who was that important?

"Suze, she said she'd help me! She swore she would, and I need her help, father!" Father Dom sighs again. I blinked. Who the hell was Suze? I store this in my memory to figure out later – it seems that there is another Mediator loose, not counting the priest.

"She is in class right now," he says patiently. "She is a student here at this school and cannot come out of lessons to perfect her mediation technique," here he shoots the girl a pointed look.

"But I've _seen _you!" the enraged woman yells. "You talk to her about it in your office, why can't you do that now? This is important! She'll help me if you get her. Father, get her for me!"

"I cannot get Susannah out of class to deal with this. She'll come to you later, you know she will, so please do not worry, my child. Now," he is speaking with an extremely infuriating calm, "what is your name, so I can pass along a message?"

She sniffs. "Janice," she says in a heart-wrenching sob that makes me double over in silent laughter. What a drama queen!

Father Dom nods thoughtfully. "Susannah has told me about you. She told me that you wouldn't explain to her how you died. Would you like to talk about it now?"

Her only reply is turning her nose up. Stuck up cow.

He is exasperated, I can tell. "Will you tell Susannah later on?"

"Maybe," she says in an irritating, non-committal way. If I were the father, I'd have kicked her ass by now. How the heck can he remain so calm when he's obviously frustrated?

Anyway, he says something – I don't catch what it is – and walks away.

She's going to materialize and I know it, so I step in first, grabbing hold of her and smirking evilly. She goes to scream. I wonder about letting her, after all, the priest thinks that only his precious Susannah can see her, but decide that it's all in good fun. Besides, inducing fear in people is what I live for.

I clamp a hand around her mouth and give her a sickly-sweet smile, very similar to the sort that I used on Lola. "So," I say conversationally, "are you gonna tell me who this Susannah chick is, or do I have to beat it out of you?" I'm deathly serious and she knows it, struggling against my grip but to no avail. She's quivering in my gaze and I don't care, doing nothing but revel in that feeling of satisfaction and ultimate power.

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait, I had a lot of writer's block. Hope you like it.**

**I hope that answers the questions about Suze. Admittedly, she isn't in the plot of this as much as she is in the two sequels – the two sequels are almost completely based on her and Paul (and the ongoing Shadowland storyline, of course). She'll show up soon, though she may not have a big role until later. I mean, see, she's mentioned! XD**

**Review, my lovelies, review!**

**Chloe.**


	6. Obsession

Off the Pedestal:

* * *

A/N: I originally said this story would be ten chapters. Now it will be slightly more. I had too much to write in this chapter, so I've split the content in half. I'm sure you'd prefer this sooner update anyway, instead of having to wait years (and frankly I could do with reviews as inspiration). I'm awfully sorry about the long wait, by the way. The next chapter should be up sometime next week, but now I must go and update **Pathway to Doom**, as it's overdue (though not as overdue as this).

My navigation of the Mission Academy is probably totally wrong, but what can I say?

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Chapter Six:

I release my hand from her mouth, waiting, but she doesn't answer me immediately.

Maybe it has something to do with how hard she is shaking, like she was in shock that some random guy – to her, that is – could see her and was threatening to beat her up if he didn't tell her about some random girl? Except this girl probably wouldn't be random if she had mediator abilities, would she? She'd be powerful – which is why I wanted – needed – to know whom she was.

"Well?" I demand. "I don't have all day, you know. Hasn't Father What's-His-Face over there just told you about you not being able to take students out of class time?"

She's still shaking, but it's subsided a bit. "She… calls herself Suze. Her name is…" she screws up her head, as if trying to remember a name, knowing I'll be angry if she doesn't give me one. "Susannah Simon."

That name is kind of familiar. Where've I heard it before?

That guy Cleo pointed out to me – Brad Ackerman. Isn't she his stepsister? Class VP and all that? Damn, I should probably have listened. I was just more preoccupied with the thought they were trying to lock me in a classroom because they don't trust me. Or something.

Hmm. Suze. _Suuuuuuzie…_

I let go of her and she stumbles backwards, but stops dead at the tone of my voice. "_Where is she?"_

She doesn't look like she's going to answer, so I grab hold again and kinda squeeze her neck – it's not like ghosts need to breathe, but just enough to give her discomfort, and for her to see I mean business.

Her voice sounds weird and she struggles to speak. "In a… class… don't… know which. Please, please… let go… you're hurting me…"

I drop her again and she unceremoniously falls to the floor in a heap, gasping for breath (that she doesn't need) and massaging her throat. Looking up to me with terrified eyes, she dematerialises. I smirk.

"'Til next time, kiddo!" I yell to the room in general. I suppose I'm lucky one of the Novices wasn't patrolling around or anything, I don't need to solidify their convictions that I'm off my head. I mean, it's not like the priest would vouch for me, because he also thinks I'm just a random psycho.

Not a shifter, like I actually am.

_Keep your secrets from your enemies, Slater,_ I remind myself. But what's the other one? _Keep your friends close and your enemies closer? _Don't they sort of contradict each other or something?

Uh, whatever. I'm different. I'm more powerful. I don't need to follow those old things; I'll do what the bloody hell I like.

Anyway, now extremely late, I stroll off to Algebra.

* * *

You'd think they'd be used to me being late and generally disobedient by now. Apparently not. I got another detention. Not like I'm actually gonna go, I do actually have some kind of life, you know. 

Anyway, I did pretty crap in the lesson anyway. I can do Algebra and everything, but I was kind of preoccupied, thinking of Suzie. It was driving me mad. Is she a mediator? Some chick the girl was a friend to before she died? Why did Father Dom know about her and not about me? Where did she go when she kept getting out of class earlier; to see the Father like the ghost girl had said?

I swear she was driving me insane – though not that anyone would notice. I mean, even the doctors had given a prognosis that I was insane. Is it possible to drive yourself insane when you're already insane? Is it possible to be any more insane? Would they try and lock me up in a white padded room again, because if that never worked out the first time, why would they think it would the next? All I did was terrify them – not that that's a bad thing.

But I digress. Basically, I had Suzie on the brain – seriously, it was like I was getting obsessed with her. Addicted. And I'm not even _that _sure who or what she is.

Not that I'm not going to find out.

Maybe I should confront her or the Father about their being Mediators? How would they react?

Well, if Suzie were a typical girl, she'd probably be all, "OH MY GOD! GHOST!" and running off screaming her head off. Considering she's probably been dealing with ghosts for a long time, I doubted that was going to happen.

Only Jack was that much of a coward.

So what would Suzie do? Frustrating thing is, I don't know. I don't think we've ever even talked. Well _that _would sure have to change. I guess she'd go on the defensive or something and deny the ghost's existence.

The priest is a little easier; he'd probably be all pleased that there was another dude who could see ghosts around. Then he'd be all, "oh my God, why did it have to be the insane guy? Out of anyone, it would have to be the insane guy! I'll lock him up in the wine cellar!"

Does the Mission even have a wine cellar?

I doubt it, and I don't have the stomach to conjure up images of a drunk Sister Ernestine getting it on with Father D.

Even the _thought _makes me shudder.

And I have to refrain from calling him Father D. It makes me think of some hippy DJ bopping in the time to music. Mental image or someone I've seen before I don't know, but it's a creepy thought either way.

But yeah, I wasn't willing to be locked up due to ghosts. They'd caused me enough trouble in the past. Although they _had _helped me get out of that white padded room… but nobody needs to know about that.

And it wasn't like anyone had died.

_Unfortunately. _

But the point is, it's not worth blowing my cover as a shifter over. If they locked me up I could probably get out easily, but I don't want to give them the satisfaction.

_You keep telling yourself that, Slater…_

_Shut up, you._

Did I mention they're also convinced I'm a complete schizophrenic?

Anyway, I seem to have wasted a lot of time brooding about Suzie, because before I knew it, it was time for lessons again.

Again, however, I didn't quite make it in time – or at all, this time. Walking through the corridors to my next class, we'd run into the tourists – though why anyone thinks this old dump is so great I don't know – and that was when I spotted him.

Mark Campbell, I mean. He was studying the statue of Junipero Serra – I wouldn't have been surprised if he pulled out a magnifying glass then and started inspecting for dust. It was creepy. And he'd left me so angry, this was when I realized class was a no-go.

I had to get to him.

I push impatiently through the crowd of tourists, some of whom are giving me nasty glances. Sister Ernestine, noticing a disturbance, makes a noise like an angry hen and starts going through the crowd too. I try and blend in with the crowd, and go softly, "hey."

He turns and his face turns white like he's seen a ghost, and then he suddenly gives me a hug. I stiffen, and when he releases me, he says emotionally, "I thought I'd never see you again."

'Uh, so?' I want to say, but catch myself just in time. "I never knew you were religious," I inform him, and he shrugs.

"Well, you never asked."

I nod. Acceptable answer.

Chancing another glance around, I turn and see Sister Ernestine, who appears to have lost me, walking in the direction of the priests' office. I assume she's going to tell him about the boy terrorizing the tourists – not that this particular one doesn't deserve it.

"So," I say conversationally, "this statue is nothing compared to this other one. Coming?"

He grinned. "Sure."

Gotcha. Never underestimate gullibility.

As we walk down the corridor, he asks, "how do you know your way around here so well, anyway?"

"It's my school," I inform him in tight-lipped fashion, then get irritated as he seems to be slowing down to admire the school. "_Come on,"_ I tell him, dragging him by the arm, certain he'd figure out something was definitely wrong with this picture, and soon too.

Turns out I seriously overestimated his intelligence. Either that or he was so enthralled with everything, he'd forgotten what I'd told him we were doing – not that I minded; it was quite convenient actually.

Either way, he only seemed to notice something was wrong when we were in the parking lot. "Hey, wait, Paul, where are we going?"

Still gripping his arm tightly with one hand, I unlock my car door and swing open the door, shoving him in. A small "oof" sound becomes audible, followed by a, "hey! What-"

Okay, he's fine.

I slam the back door and then climb in the front of the car, putting the keys in the ignition. Through the mirror I see that Mark's staring at me with wide, frightened eyes.

He's afraid of me? Times certainly are changing.

"Paul, where are we going?" he asks frantically.

I turn around and smile sadistically. He shrinks back. "It's a little place I like to call the nuthouse."

In the shocked silence, I start the car and drive off, while he sits with the same terrified eyes, probably cursing his decision to not only come to Carmel but to the Mission Academy.

There will always be a mistake you make that's the worst in your life. This was his – and I wasn't the only one who knew it.

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A/N: Thank you very much for the reviews - I appreciate the gesture. I'd appreciate more reviews though, too. And for if I don't update in time, Merry Christmas, readers! 


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